


Inclement Weather / Acquired Taste

by irisbleufic



Series: Anthology 'Verse (& Related Errata) [4]
Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Holidays, Idiots in Love, Jewish Character, LGBTQ Jewish Character(s), M/M, Other, Snow, Snow and Ice, Travel, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-18
Updated: 2015-03-12
Packaged: 2018-02-26 03:09:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2635757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irisbleufic/pseuds/irisbleufic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four cities, four quarrels, and four reactions to wintry inconvenience.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Inclement Weather

**Author's Note:**

> This can be read as a stand-alone, and it's also an [**_Anthology_**](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1075605) 'verse side piece.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Four cities, four quarrels, and four reactions to wintry inconvenience.

**Hong Kong, 31 October 2026**

Newton is on his way from the bedroom to the living room to shout at Hermann about not having decided which pair of shoes he's packing for their two months abroad when there's an unholy, uncoordinated banging at the front door. He's afraid of what he's going to find if he answers it (a particular demanding student, the upstairs neighbor with another complaint, who _knows_ ). However, all things being equal, his chances at a quiet Saturday night with Hermann have already been dashed to pieces given the inevitable reprisal of their ongoing Suitcase Argument in all its glory.

"This had better be important!" Newton calls, unbolting the door. "We're _not_ holding office hours!"

"Trick or treat!" Daniel screeches, banging his jack-o'-lantern candy bucket against Newton's knees.

Newton bends down to pick him up, an automatic reflex, and squishes the kid's cheap polyester clownfish costume while he's at it. "This isn't Anchorage," he tells Tendo and Alison, who are standing there dressed like extras in a production of _Grease_. "Where else are you taking him?"

"Eh, not many places," Alison says, checking her lipstick in the plate-glass of the door. "To my boss's place, and then down to the Shatterdome to see Herc and Max. You guys got any sweets?"

"Of course they do," says Tendo, giving Newton a meaningful look. "Newt keeps Milka bars in the drawer under the microwave, and Hermann always has some of those biscuit things. Right?"

"Right, you want me to give him a whole ten-square chocolate bar?" asks Newton, glaring, and gestures them inside. "Hey, dude, your costume's all wet," he says to Daniel, leading Tendo and Alison into the kitchen, and promptly puts the kid down. "Is it raining out there or something?"

"Sleeting," Tendo says, clearly nostalgic for Alaska. "Never snows here, brother, but it _is_ cold."

"Then we shall have to put on the kettle," sighs Hermann, thumping in from the living room. He looks tired and kind of frazzled, and it doesn't escape Newton's notice that he's leaning especially hard on his cane. "Alison, you look marvelous," he says, kissing both of her cheeks, and then crosses the room to knock Newton's hand away from the kettle. "To what do we owe the pleasure?" he asks Tendo, venting his agitation into over-enunciating the words. " _Ah_. Some pagan holiday."

"Trick or treat?" Daniel says hopefully to Hermann, banging his bucket against the nearest chair.

"Hermann, sit down," Newton says, grabbing the kettle out of his hand while he's distracted and waving at Daniel. "I'll take care of it. Get them all seated and be the charming host you are."

"Some _weather_ , is more like it," Alison says, lifting Daniel up into the chair so Hermann doesn't have to. She takes the seat next to him, sending Tendo and Hermann obediently around to the opposite side with a flick of her painted fingernail. "It's gonna be miserable down at the dome."

Newton glances over his shoulder while filling the kettle to see if Hermann has taken a seat; ever the contrarian, Hermann is rummaging in the drawer beneath the microwave instead. He swears.

"Now I know why you've gotten a head-start on winter padding," Tendo says to Newton. " _Tsk_."

"It's not _gone_ ," Newton insists, slamming the kettle back in its cradle before dashing over to take Hermann by the shoulders and wheel him around. "Sit. Your ass. _Down_. See? Not that hard," he adds, pushing Hermann's seat into the table, and then goes fishing as far back in the drawer as he can reach. His fingertips skitter across a smooth, unopened wrapper, and he pulls out the bar.

" _Whoa_ ," Daniel says when Newton holds it out to show him, tugging on the fabric of his Nemo costume where it skirts along under his chin. "Big candy!" he exclaims, and then: "Please?"

"Since you asked so nicely," says Hermann, snagging the chocolate out of Newton's hand, "of _course_ you shall have it. And you must promise you'll share it with your parents, is that clear?"

"Berlin's the first stop," Newton reminds everyone, getting back to the tea. "I'll just buy more."

"You guys are gone till like January, huh?" asks Alison, enviously. "Will you be seeing Monica?"

"No," Newton says, a little too quickly, pulling down four mugs while the kettle starts to bubble.

"Austria's not on the itinerary," Hermann clarifies, brushing his hand apologetically against Newton's elbow as he passes. "We've got stops in Scandinavia and Britain as well."

"No signed copy of that shiny new _Die Fledermaus_ recording for _you_ ," Tendo teases Alison.

Alison sticks her tongue out at him, and Daniel copies her before holding out the chocolate.

"Here, young man," Hermann sighs, taking the Milka bar away from him. "Permit me." Newton goes about impatiently tossing a tea bag in each mug while he can hear Hermann tearing the wrapper and snapping off squares for everyone around the table. " _Mmm_ ," he says. "Nice?"

"Yes," Daniel agrees, the word garbled enough to indicate that his mouth's already full. "Nice."

"What does that even mean, _nice_?" Newton grouses, carrying two mugs over to the table, and plonks them down in front of Alison and Tendo. "I hope you guys don't want sugar. We're out."

"Then at least fetch them the milk," Hermann says, his fingers poised to snap off another square of chocolate. "The chocolate ought to be sweet enough, but I told you, you forgot _something_ _—_ "

"Would you just chill out?" Tendo asked, addressing the whole room so as not to put Hermann on the spot. "This is fine. We can't stay that long anyhow. Alison's boss wants to drool over Dan."

Newton fetches the milk as he's told, slamming the fridge shut. "Anything else, Your Crankiness?"

"Yes," Hermann says, finally snapping off the square, and folds over the wrapper before placing the rest of the candy bar in Daniel's jack-o'-lantern. "Come over here, and don't forget my tea."

Newton comes over to the table with both of their mugs and makes sure at least a _little_ bit slops out of both when he sets them down. "Dan, don't date a grouchy-pants when you're older. Got it?"

"Oh, _shush_ ," Hermann says, tugging on Newton's wrist. "Here," he says, holding the square of Milka up to Newtons lips. "You didn't have to do that," he adds quietly. "I had it well in hand."

Newton eats the chocolate, and then kisses Hermann on the forehead. "You're gonna pack your shoes without a fight, are _we_ clear? Only one pair, dude, because we need to leave room for boots."

 

 

**Berlin, 20 November 2026**

Hermann frowns at the framed photograph on Karla's living-room wall. In most circumstances, he's fond of Bastien's adventurous work, but there's something mildly scandalous about his younger brother having taken to photographing his nude lover in lieu of an anonymous model.

"That's, _um_ ," whispers Newton, laughing. "More of Tamer than I ever thought I'd see."

"We may rest assured of his taste, at least," replies Hermann, wryly. "Don't you think?"

"Dude, _whose_?" Newton retorts. "Tamer's good-looking, sure, but I hope you're not gonna show me pictures of Bastien as a point of comparison. And _no_ ," he adds, raising his voice so that Karla, who's in the kitchen, will be able to hear him, "not even naked baby pictures. _Especially_ not those."

" _Der Kaffee est fertig_ ," says Karla, conversationally, and brings a tray into the living room. "Don't worry. I wouldn't do something so tacky. Father has most of our albums in London anyway."

"Now, _Bastien_ would," says Hermann, darkly, and turns to sit back down on the sofa while Karla clears the coffee table in front of them to make room for the tray. "Let us thank God he isn't here."

"He's coming later, though, isn't he?" asks Newton, walking over to peer out the window. "With weather like we're having, he'd better hurry. Aw, _great_. Now you've got that song in my head."

"Which song?" replies Karla, startled as she pours four cups. "Charles!" she shouts. " _Beeil dich_!"

"You know, that Peter Cornelius one from, like, nineteen seventy-nine or so," Newton says, coming back to sit down just in time for Karla to hand him a cup and saucer. " _Der Kaffee ist fertig_."

"Spare our ears, _please_ ," Hermann begs, taking a cup and saucer in turn, "and don't try to sing it."

"My dad fucking loves that song, I don't even know why," Newton admits. "So does my uncle."

"Sorry!" Charles calls, striding down from his studio with his apron still on. "Oh, hullo there. How'd the Potsdam crowd treat you this afternoon? It's one hell of a lecture, they're saying."

Karla takes a cup and saucer over to him, mildly irritated. "Are you going to take a break and join us, or are you just going to stand there wittering uselessly for a few minutes and then fly away?"

"Better than TU did yesterday," Newton says, and Hermann can only cover his eyes in abject horror. "Apparently the way you show your appreciation to rock-star returning alumni who have saved the world is wait till the Q&A session and ask pissy questions like there's gonna be an exam. Or like you think you could've done a better job. It goes a long way to explaining why Hermann _—_ "

"I buggered off to the United Kingdom for graduate school, of _course_ they're going to treat me like I don't deserve red-carpet treatment," Hermann cuts in. "We didn't all have the unusually good fortune to stumble into one of the world's finest institutions at the age of fifteen and _stay there_."

"Bloody hell, that's rotten," says Charles, his tone sympathetic, and Hermann feels momentarily comforted by the presence of someone who understands the value of having done one's doctorate at Cambridge (Charles's absent-minded Bertie Wooster air notwithstanding; from there, Hermann thinks of Ming house-and-fish-sitting while they're gone and his foul mood comes back).

"Darling, get back to your easel," Karla sighs, hurrying him through his last gulps of coffee.

"Does anybody tease you about marrying some guy with the masculine version of your own first name?" Newton asks Karla while Charles thumps his way back up the wooden stairs. Hermann wants to hit him upside the head with Karla's three-day-old _Berliner Zeitung_ , but Karla smiles at him. "It's about as funny as the G-surnames thing, I guess. Garner. Gottlieb. We did good."

"I'm going outside," says Hermann, stiffly. "I can't share air with you lot for much longer."

Hermann takes comfort in the parka's utility, although he puts on his shoes instead of his boots in defiance of Newton's insistent clucking over the former pair not being waterproof. His cane is more help in six inches of snow than his boots would be, at least once he's off Karla's icy front sidewalk and marring her pristine while lawn with footprints. Behind him, the front door opens and shuts.

"You'll take any opportunity to sulk, won't you?" Newton demands, trudging into the yard in his unlaced boots, completely lacking his coat. "Heaven forbid FU and HU should give us that uppity bullshit before we're out of here on the thirtieth. Lighten _up_. They're a bunch of jealous fucks."

Hermann glares at Charles's well cultivated holly-hedge. "The novelty's wearing off, I fear," he sighed pensively. "We won't be able to rest on our laurels forever. They'll want something new, something _else_ . Lord knows when any of the classified papers will be released. _Years_ from now."

"Aw, hey," Newton says, coming up behind him, and wraps his arms around Hermann's waist. "It'll all work out. Who knows what they'll find in the ongoing clean-up, anyway? Maybe we'll get called in to look at some weird residual shit in Australia. You just don't know. Give it time."

Something damp and powdery hits Hermann in the back of the head; fragments of it scatter, making Newton squawk. "Karla," Hermann seethes, "if you even so much as _think_ of doing that again _—_ "

"It's a nice evening," says Bastien, cheerfully, "so I took the bus and then walked. Rough crowd?"

"Not nearly as rough as your new photos are facing, dude," Newton says, letting go so that he can scrape around in the miserable stuff underfoot in hopes of fashioning a projectile of his own. He hands the result to Hermann and then goes about making more shakily cohesive ammunition.

"Oh, those," replies Bastien, dodging the snowball Newton tosses. "What do _you_ think, Hermann?"

"Your taste in men isn't lacking, but less is more," Hermann tells him, hitting his mark in the nose.

 

 

**Stockholm, 13 December 2026**

"I don't care if our flight to Gatwick's tomorrow and we're running low on toothpaste," Newton says, fumbling his way, _sans_ glasses, from the bathroom back to bed. "I'm _so_ not going out in that."

"No need," Hermann agrees, lifting the covers to let him crawl back in. "We'll miss the audiences here, though, don't you think? They're capable of showing proper respect for even the likes of _you_. That shows quite an admirable level of decorum. I shan't hesitate to accept Bengtsdotter's offer, I suppose, if they manage to secure funding for a visiting professorship in the spring."

Newton wants to say something like _Hell yeah, go for it, but only if I can come with you_. Instead of thinking about a whole term where he's left alone to wrangle Ming and her entire cohort through to graduation, he nuzzles the hollow of Hermann's throat and considers the fact that Hermann has proved as good as his word where bringing them back to this amazing hotel is concerned.

"For the love of God, Newton, _out_ with it," says Hermann, wryly, threading his fingers through Newton's shower-damp hair. "Your silence is uncanny; it disturbs the very universe."

"I think we should fuck," Newton says, kissing the spot he'd been licking up till then.

"Not till we've packed for tomorrow," Hermann sighs. "And you'd wanted dinner _—_ "

" _Mmm_ , nope," Newton insists, wriggling till Hermann has no choice but to let his thighs fall open so Newton can settle between them. "We'll just order some stuff later. It's too cold out there."

"That's never stopped you before," Hermann says, and the tension that runs between them, pulled taut, is the same thread of memory strung from that fixed point between them and through till the end of their days. They'll be making up for lost time until time itself runs out. "I'm sorry."

"It's not that I wouldn't have enjoyed throwing snowballs at you down by the harbor, don't get me wrong," Newton tells him, and, as hard as both of them are, all he wants now is the reassurance that Hermann isn't going to insist that they keep a reservation on the far side of town that Newton had been an idiot to make in the first place. "But if you get that stupid fellowship and I can't get away or find some other viable excuse to tag along, I won't be able to keep from thinking we wasted . . . "

Hermann kisses him like it's their honeymoon all over again—like it's the Shatterdome all over again, like it's the press tour all over again, like it's _everything_ from those points to the present. If he were to connect all of them, Newton supposes, they'd have a constellation of their own; he wonders even as Hermann presses up against him, stealing his breath, if that shit can be modeled.

"Did you intend _literal_ fucking," Hermann pants into Newton's mouth, "or is this a free-for-all?"

"Oh, shut the hell up," says Newton, setting his holo-screen fantasies aside. "Where's the lube?"

 

 

**London, 26 December 2026**

It's a waste when Boxing Day falls on a Saturday, and even more so when there are no fewer than four different factions fighting for control of the telly. Hermann rolls his eyes when Dieterich loses his patience and announces that he's going home to pop in a DVD; Anan isn't too far behind him, and she kisses the children on her way out, telling them to call if Grandpa Lars gets tetchy.

"This isn't good at all," Lily whispers loudly to Hermann, wrapping one of her myriad tiny braids around her index finger. "We'll _never_ see the marathon now. Grandfather's watching rugby."

Hermann watches Dominik glance from his sister to his half-dozing grandfather in the armchair, and then to Newton. "You said it was the new one, yeah? Like not the _really_ really old stuff."

"They're marathoning the first season of the revival, which is from two thousand and five," Newton replies, shifting in his seat next to Hermann on the sofa, "so it's still pretty old to _you_. I was a kid."

"I was a child, too," Hermann added softly, hesitant to wake his father after the exhausting afternoon meal he'd just hosted, "but it felt . . . " He paused. "Like it's all there ever was, never mind that I'd watched the far earlier runs. I never did forgive Eccleston for leaving, either."

"You wouldn't," Newton snorts, leaning forward so that Dom and Lily, from their seats on the floor, huddle in closer. "Matt Smith was the best Doctor, and nobody can convince me otherwise."

"Your uncle doesn't know contrived screenwriting from a hole in the ground," Hermann insists.

"Your _other_ uncle's too much of a Nine/Rose shipper to appreciate anything that came later," Newton says. "You guys will just _love_ the Ponds. They were the best companions ever to _—_ "

"We're taking this outside," Hermann announces, getting to his feet, "and we are going to _settle_ this. Lily, you're with me; Dom, you're with Newton. No, not another word. Get your coats."

"What are we gonna do," asks Newton, watching the kids bound off to suit up, "take them back to the hotel, download as many episodes as we can, and make them watch till their eyes bleed? _I'm_ up for that, but we fly out of here on New Year's Eve. I don't think there's enough time. You can prove your point when they come stay with us next summer."

"As much as I'd like for that to be our course of action, no, we are _not_ taking them back to Mayfair and subjecting them to inhuman quantities of vintage television," Hermann says, taking a detour down the hall toward his father's study. The storage closet yielded up a mop and a plunger; the latter, while not ideal would at least function at the proper length. He hands it to Newton.

"If we're about to do what I _think_ we're about to do," Newton protests, studying the mop, "Lily's got a blatant teammate advantage."

"So let's see whose team can conjure up the better snow Dalek, shall we?" replies Hermann, smugly leading the way downstairs.


	2. Acquired Taste

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For [**goodboots**](http://archiveofourown.org/users/goodboots), who won a piece on what Hermann thinks of Newt's tattoos.

**Hong Kong, 1 January 2027**

****Hermann groggily notes that it's just past eleven in the morning when the airport-to-doorstep car transfer service stops in front of their flat. Newton has been varying degrees of asleep on Hermann's shoulder from plane to customs to this very moment, whereas Hermann hasn't slept so much as a _wink_ in the past twenty-odd hours. The decision to throttle Newton awake comes easily.

"Dude, _ow_!" Newton shouts, hunching in on himself as he sits up, rubbing his elbow. "That was the door handle meeting my funny bone, you insensitive fuck. _Dammit_. What the hell time is it?"

"Time for you to pay the driver," Hermann snaps, shoving his own door open; his cheeks are pink, he doesn't doubt, on account of Newton's outburst. "Newton, _please_. I paid for the last one."

"You paid for _shit_ ," Newton mumbles, but he fishes in his coat pocket and produces the tooled leather billfold bearing Otachi's likeness that Dominik and Lily had got him for Christmas. Anan loved Hanukkah as much as the next person, but she insisted on her own family's traditions, too.

"Please excuse him," Hermann sighs, reaching to slip the driver an extra tip while Newton struggles out and sloshes around to the back of the vehicle to retrieve their things. Little wonder the driver has merely popped the trunk; with treatment like that, Hermann wouldn't have assisted.

It's pissing rain, and Hermann's stuck with house-key duty since Newton is literally wrangling four suitcases and several shopping parcels. The return haul from London to Hong Kong is Hermann's least favorite trip in the world, and he has taken _quite_ a number of trips. He drops his keys on the wet pavement, cursing; meanwhile, Newton drops everything, potentially fragile souvenirs for friends included, and steps over to lay relentlessly on the doorbell. _Now, why would he_ —

"Wow," says Ming, barefoot in HKU sweatpants and one of Newton's old MIT shirts that she's hideously attacked with a pair of scissors (had she been given _permission_?) "You guys look like something Hannibal's team dragged in. No, I'm _serious_ ; you should see the crap they trawl out of the harbor even now. Ah, I mean, _hi_ ," she says, hugging Newton before he can evade her grasp. "Bertie was a super huge pain in the butt while you were gone. His belly puffed up and I freaked out and I had to get Lu over here to sort through his medicines so I'd know which one to give. Hannibal came with her and was like, no, you morons, you wanna use _aquarium salt_ —"

"Please forgive me for temporarily forgetting we had left you in charge," Hermann cuts in, taking hold of her arm for support as he pushes past her and into the hallway, "and please _also_ forgive me for not being all over greetings and thanks, but we are _exhausted_. Newton, for the love of God."

"You try handling all of this shit yourself next time, how about that?" replies Newton confrontationally, and Ming hastily dashes out, never mind her bare feet, to help him wrangle the baggage inside. Once both the luggage and the three of them are inside, Newton sheds his coat and boots on the floor and grabs Ming by the shoulders. "You said Bertie puffed up like _what_?"

"I, um," she admits, "I think I overfed him one day like two weeks ago because he was being cute and I wanted to teach him to eat from my fingers and by the next morning his belly didn't look so good and he was swimming funny—look, _okay_!" she shrieks as Newton lets go of her and dashes off to the living room in a panic. "He's okay! We just didn't feed him for forty-eight hours and Hannibal did the thing with aquarium salt and raising the water temp just in case it was a parasite!"

"My dear, you'll shout yourself hoarse," Hermann sighs, almost losing his balance as he sheds his shoes; fortunately, Ming is quick to catch him and fetch his cane from where he'd propped it against the wall. "Just come with me to the kitchen. It would be rude to send you home without tea."

"I can't get back in the dorms for another few days," she says evasively, letting Hermann lean hard on her as they head down the hall. "Newt said I could crash here till, well, term starts. Is that . . . "

Hermann doesn't respond; he knows when signs point to her unstable home situation being even more poorly than usual, and he's not about to turn her away when she's spent the past two months seeing to it that they haven't suffered any break-ins or aquarium fish casualties. Ming settles him at the kitchen table and then goes to fill the kettle. Newton storms in, stripped to his undershirt.

"Number one, it's _way_ too fucking hot in here, just how high _have_ you turned up the heat?" he demands, collapsing into the chair next to Hermann, "and second of all, who thought it would be fun to upgrade Bertie to a fifteen gallon without warning me and sticking in . . . let's see, four kuhli loaches that I could _count_. That probably means there are six of the fuckers in there, am I right?"

"Hannibal wanted to surprise you," says Ming, carrying three mugs over to the table. "Lu picked out the loaches. She couldn't stop screeching about how cute they are. We got five of them."

"Oh, perfect," Hermann mutters, snagging the PPDC first-issue diner-style design before Newton can claim it. It's more ergonomic than the others, more solid to hold. "More mouths to feed."

"We got the algae tablets and everything," Ming said, spooning loose-leaf Kenilworth into the teapot, pouring in the steaming water immediately after. "Absolutely zero work for you."

"Did the puffy stomach thing happen before or after the tank-change shenanigans?" Newton asks, not looking at her, and only then does Hermann realize how angry he really is. "Be honest."

"Before," says Ming, solemnly, carrying the pot over to the table with Newton's ridiculous oven mitts shoved on her hands. "We did the tank change like three weeks after that, once it'd had the chance to cycle. You think Hannibal's an idiot, don't you? He's learned how to do this shit right."

"I think it's too soon after an illness scare, is all," Newton insists, letting Ming take his mug in order to spoon sugar into it. "Even if it was probably just overfeeding. Please _ask_ next time, okay?"

"Yeah, whatever," Ming says, reaching for Hermann's mug, too. She meets Hermann's eyes with a look of sharp annoyance, as if she can't believe he's not defending her. The next place her gaze shifts is Newton's exposed forearms, upper arms, collarbones, his _neck_. "I bet you hated those the first time you saw them," she offers, pouring underbrewed tea in with the sugar. "Did you?"

Hermann is too tired to understand what this sort of segue could possibly import. "I don't— _what_?"

"You are unbelievable," says Newton, grabbing his cup back from her so hard he almost spills it.

"The tattoos," Ming clarifies, sliding Hermann's mug back at him, picking up her own. She walks to the end of the table and takes the seat there, settling in before pointing at Newton's forearms.

Hermann shrugs, too busy sipping his tea. "I honestly couldn't tell you. He had several by the time we met in person, and I'd heard so much about them over email that it wasn't worth mentioning."

"But you get on him about _everything_ ," Ming presses. "Surely you had some kind of opinion?"

"First you fuck with my fish, now you fuck with my husband," Newton says under his breath, and Hermann knows full well that this is the side of his partner that _none_ of their students should ever see. Or, to be more precise, _one_ of the sides their students should never see. With this particular student, the damage is already done (after that  _Hamlet_ scene, Hermann had given up). "Classy!"

Ming slams her mug down on the table far too hard, actually sloshing tea. "I missed you guys!"

" _Shhh_ ," Hermann sighs, closing his eyes. "We missed you, too. If you _must_ know what I thought, if it will buy us this cup of tea in relative peace and then undisturbed retirement to bed, then, _yes_ , you shall hear about it. But you won't be terribly pleased."

"Man," sighs Ming, chin in hands. "I knew you must've taken a while to warm up. True love."

"Inasmuch as Newton's ink has been the subject of much derision on my part over the years," Hermann begins, realizing he's so tired he scarcely knows what he's saying, much less _cares_ how ill-advised his next actions may prove, "the fact is that I'm not opposed to any of it." He leaves his mug on the table and scoots his chair back far enough to let Ming see that he's got one hand splayed from hipbone down to his upper thigh. "And I'd show you mine just to prove a point, but it would be inappropriate under the circumstances. Wouldn't you say we've had enough of that?"

Ming opens her mouth, starts to say something, and then manages less than a laugh. "Lie!"

"Nah, truth," says Newt, gravely. "I did the work with equipment borrowed from Lu. Ask her."

Ming rubs her code-riddled arms up and down and breaks out in a slow grin at Hermann.

"You _will_ show me sometime," she says. "When you guys aren't cranky, jet-lagged jerks."

"You'll wait a long time, dear girl," Hermann cautions, taking one last sip of tea. " _Years._ "

"That means get your ass through grad school and become a colleague," Newton translates.

Hermann rises from the table, yawning, setting a hand on Ming's arm. "Please see to it he doesn't fall asleep on the floor whilst fussing over the fish. If they aren't named, he won't rest till they are."

"Jeez, hadn't even thought of that," says Newton, blankly. "Five fucking squiggle-monsters."

"How about you call them Alpha, Beta, Gamma, Delta, Epsilon and call it a day?" asks Ming.

"To be continued," replies Newton, not even making an attempt to finish his tea, and gets up.

"Come on," Hermann sighs, reaching behind him to grasp Newton's hand as he leads the way.


End file.
